2014-01-08 - Cutscene: It Was a Good Day
“This can’t seriously be important,” Adam says with a scowl to the only other living creature in Clint Barton’s apartment in Brooklyn, Lucky. The dog looks up from where he was laying at Adam’s feet by the dining room table. He wags his tail. Adam sighs, looking down at Lucky. “I mean, who really needs this stupid history stuff?” he gripes. He considers for a moment, then grins. “Let’s go take a walk, all right, boy?” he says. Lucky’s ears perk up at the word ‘walk’, and he bounds to his feet, running across the apartment to the door. Adam grabs his trenchcoat, slides on his boots, and clips Lucky’s leash on his collar, and they leave. “How about some pizza?” Adam asks as the two hit the Brooklyn streets, Adam with his hands in his pockets, the leash looped loosely around a forearm; Lucky sniffing at everything and wagging his tail. Lucky chuffs a reply that sounds enough like an affirmative to the purple-haired teenager that he stops by the pizza place across the street from the apartment complex, picking up a couple of slices. He leans against the wall outside, wolfing down his own slice while the dog does the same. After they’ve finished their requisite pizza snackrifice, they stroll down first one block, then another. Neither seem to have any real destination in mind, and that seems to be just fine by both of them, just a teenage guy and his one-eyed dog to anyone who observes them. At least an hour flies by… both amused by the life and pace of the city, not even a touch of boredom. The boy chats with street hawkers, the dog snuffles at garbage cans. It’s a good day. The relaxed, happy avoidance of studying by the teen is interrupted by the smell of smoke and the sudden sound of yelling from down the block. Adam’s brow furrows, and he tugs at Lucky’s leash. “Come on, boy. Let’s go.” They jog down towards the sounds and smell of fire, arriving just in time to see flames leaping out from an old corner market’s front doors. Adam brings the sleeve of his trenchcoat up over his face. “Whoa. That’s a lot of fire… you think there’s anyone inside, Lucky?” The dog barks in reply at the rising flames, melting the snow on the sidewalks. Adam’s eyes narrow, glancing around at the growing crowd. A handful of tracksuited guys watch from a van across the street, looking way too indifferent. “Mafia creeps,” Adam growls, reaching for his crossbow-- which isn’t there. Great. His momentary consideration of stomping over there and punching a couple of the goons is interrupted by the sound of a wailing cry and cough from inside the market. . o O (Great. New plan.) “All right, boy, stay here,” Adam says, loosely hooking the end of Lucky’s lead to a trash can. and before he can think better of it, arm up over his face to help protect himself from the smoke and flames, the teenager dives into the shop through the licking fire at the front door. “Yo! Where are you at?!” he calls out, making his way through the fire. His boots crunch on broken glass, and the smell of liquor and fuel wafts up from the floor. He looks down, seeing a handful of shattered liquor bottles scattered throughout the shop. “Molotovs? Seriously?” he coughs. The sound of crying and coughing draw his attention, and he pushes his way further towards it at the back of the store. Lucky’s barking starts up outside, loud enough to be heard over the crackle and roar of the flames. “Gimme a sec, boy!” He manages to avoid the worst of the fire, but the smoke is beginning to get to him as he makes his way behind the checkout counter in the far back. A small Asian girl, probably seven or eight years old, is crouched behind, hiding from the flames, cuddling a trio of cats: one older and two kittens. “C’mon, kid,” Adam says, kneeling down beside her. “We gotta get you out of here.” The girls huddles back further, crying and coughing. Adam scowls, looking around. The fire has only managed to grow in intensity, and the smoke is getting thicker. He sighs. This hero stuff isn’t as easy as the Avengers make it look. “Fine.” Adam grabs the kittens from her, shoving one into each pocket of his trenchcoat, then scoops the kid and the larger cat up and throws her over his shoulder. “Hardmode.” He snags a bottle of water from the cooler by the counter and dumps it over them both, eliciting a snarl of protest from the cat. “Cool it, furrball,” he snaps. “Unless you’re planning on being a crispy critter.” He at least attempts to sound sympathetic when he tells the girl, “Uh, so, we’re gonna run now.” He coughs. This is /not/ what he signed up for today. And he springs forward, carrying the girl and cat, bouncing off non-flaming shelves and displays as he makes his way out. He bursts through the flames at the front, landing heavily on the street, smoldering. He puts the little kid down. She wraps her arms around his legs. “Oof,” he rubs the back of his neck. “Uh, it’s okay, midget. Let’s just…” he blinks, coughing. Lucky bounds up to him, tugging on his sleeve. “Yeah, yeah. Look, kid, I gotta bounce.” he pulls the kittens out of his trenchcoat pockets, shoving them at her as her parents come up to him, babbling thank yous in… whatever language that is. Chinese? Maybe? “No sweat,” he pulls away. Or attempts to. The little girl hands him one of the kittens, apparently in a gesture of thanks. “Okay. Okay!” He takes the cat, shoving it into his pocket again. Lucky barks. Man, this is too chaotic. “I’ve… gotta go, seriously.” The sound of sirens, and his gaze flits across the street to the tracksuits. Next time. He snatches up Lucky’s leash and runs out, coughing and hopping over debris, ducking into an alley and cutting away from the growing crowd. Two blocks away from Clint’s building, he stops, leaning against the wall and scratching Lucky’s ears. The kitten pokes his little black head out of Adam’s pocket, mewling at the dog, who sniffs him curiously. “Man.” He scratches his head, looking from the dog to the cat with a sigh. “Maybe Clint won’t notice?” Lucky chuffs at him. “It’s a thought.” The kitten mewls again. Adam sighs. “All right, beasts. Let’s go home.” And when Clint gets back home later that day, he is greeted by the sight of one teenage boy, one one-eyed dog, and one tiny black kitten all piled on the couch, napping in a pile, all vaguely smelling of smoke. Schoolwork? Totally not done. It was a good day.